I'll Meet You There
by Love and Rock Music
Summary: They always come back to each other. A deeper look at significant RoryJess moments in their history, and an AU Literati ending. Now complete!
1. Left Broken

**A/N:** This story was the very first fanfic I ever wrote - and comes with all the clichés associated. The writing makes me cringe, but it stays here as a testament to my newbieness and to keep my pride in check. It remained incomplete for quite a long time; in a desperate attempt to finish on its anniversary, I rushed the last three chapters so I could finally put it to bed. If you stumbled here in search of RoryJess, you found it - but don't expect anything outstanding. I'd much rather you checked out what is, in comparison, my crowning Literati achievement: a oneshot entitled The Setting Sun. Hopefully you'll find that my writing has matured from the typical, high-school-sophomore attempt at fan fiction that you can read below.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Gilmore Girls or the Simple Plan lyrics.

* * *

1. Left Broken

_Now you're gone  
I wonder why  
You left me here  
I think about it on and on and on and on and on again  
I know you're never coming back  
I hope that you can hear me  
I'm waiting  
To hear from you_

"Um. . . you'll call me?"

"Yeah. I'll call you."

And that was it. Her heart felt heavier with every step she took away from him. Later, she would like to think the horrible feelings that worsened while she watched the bus turn the corner were a sort of warning. That somehow, the deep connection she shared with Jess was telling her to do something, anything. Run after the bus, call a cab, call his name, cry. But she didn't.

Rory ignored the feelings, voices, sickness, whatever you want to call it, and instead walked up towards Chilton still oblivious. He would be there when she got back. Her stomach churned. Right?

All day she thought of him. She should have been thinking of Chemistry. Of finals. Of college. But no, every time Jess would invade her thoughts. Why was he on that bus? He should be in school! He. . . _'I thought you took an earlier bus. . . ' _He had wanted to avoid her? Were they broken up now? No, he talked to her. . . But where was he going? She thought of his habit of not saying goodbye. Was he leaving? Her feeling of dread only increased. She couldn't deal with this. Clear your head, clear your head. Finals!

She was able to make it through the day by coming up with a method of coping. Each time she thought of Jess, she would write the thought down, and put it aside to read and think over later. It helped.

Unfortunately, later never came. Finals did, though. And then she had to write her valedictorian speech, and pack for Europe. She couldn't allow him to occupy her mind, get her upset and distracted. When her mom told her that he wasn't coming back, she didn't think. She wrote it down, in a marble-covered that had become the unofficial "Jess Notebook." Her mother didn't know about it. And though Rory insisted she was fine, she also insisted that she didn't want to talk about him. Lorelai suspected she was having a rough time, but said nothing.

Graduation Day came. He was supposed to have been there. He called. At least, she thought it was him that called. Hoped it was him, because if it wasn't, then whoever was on the other line was treated to some very undeserved Gilmore raving. Rory also told him that she might have loved him. Well, if it was him, that was a promise he had kept. For once.

On the plane, while her mother was sleeping beside her, she pulled out her notebook and allowed herself to think of him. Really think of him, for the first time since he had left. Remembering the mysterious call, she wondered if he felt guilty; if he missed her. All the suppressed feelings: the dread, the sadness, the hopelessness, the indescribable ache that was his loss, came rushing back in all its glory. She felt it spread from within her to her chest, to her stomach, to all through her. Did he know what he was doing to her? Why couldn't he have told her what was going on? She thought of his kisses, the concert they went to, of the books he borrowed from her and she stole from him. Of Kyle's party, the awful thing in his bedroom and the fight that ensued. She wanted him to come back, so she could run into his arms and forget everything but them.

Turning the pages, she realized that it was more than half-full. She stopped on a page that was blank except for one thing. "Did he leave because of me?" While her mother dozed next to her, she cried silent tears.


	2. Compression

2. Compression

_Until I do, you're gone away  
I'm left alone  
A part of me is gone and I'm not moving on_

The car. He was here for the car. His _car_. That was the reason he was in this stupid town, with these stupid, unbearable people. They all hated him, anyway. And he hated this place. So who cares? He was just here for the car. _Not _to see her. No. The car.

He could barely stand being in Stars Hollow. The whole place made Jess feel like he was underwater. He couldn't breathe. And he needed to get out before he suffocated. There was a time, though, when he could stand the godforsaken hellhole. There was a girl. And she alone had made it bearable; had not only kept him from killing himself out of sheer boredom but had set him free. Changed him. Enough to make him choose, willingly, to stay there just for the sake of being around her. Enough to make him thank whoever the hell was up there, for making his mother send him there. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him. She -- No! He had to stop thinking about her. It's over. Now just get over it. Rory hates you and you. . . It's your fault, you know.

He left. Left her broken, and he knew it. He lied without talking to her, ran without telling her, left without saying goodbye. He had always thought running was the best way to handle things. Run and don't look back. But this time, he couldn't. He found himself unable to rid himself of her. It was involuntary. He couldn't go a day, no, an _hour_ without thinking of her. And of everything he did to her. He hated himself, and he hated being stuck back in this fucking place, waiting for his car to be fixed, while around him everything he saw reminded him of Rory. As if he didn't think about her enough.

Jess turned the pages, but he wasn't really reading the words. He froze when he heard the sweet, clear voice he'd recognize anywhere.

"Hi, I'd like a large coffee, and a cherry danish please."

It was worse than anything Jess could have possibly imagined. Her presence intensified the horrible feelings of guilt and regret and self-pity, and the secret desire that he needed her, a million times over. The room was spinning. He was drowning, dying; filled with a sick desire to stay and let the agony consume him. But his selfish city-born self-preservation kicked in when he saw his reflection in her wide eyes.

"I'm leaving." And he ran for his life.

--

Jess had finally been able to relax in the quiet of Andrew's bookstore. Where else would he go? He had _nothing_. He sat in the back, comfortable, knowing that by verbalizing that they were avoiding each other, Rory would stay away from him. She knew him, and she knew he was here. He knew her, and she wouldn't come here. He was safe.

The shop bell dinged, but he only dimly registered it as he lost himself in between the covers of the Al Franken he was reading. His stomach twinged, and abruptly, his breaths came shallower. He thought of Rory. . . It was almost as if she . . . Something inside him jerked his head upward. She was there! He wasted no time as the air constricted around him, and left without a word.

--

Finally, _finally_, he was able to get his car and leave. Drive far away from this nightmare, and think of her (inevitably) in a place where he wasn't in a position to hurt her more, and himself in the process. He could speed off into the darkness and let the cool air temporarily wipe him of all thoughts.

As he prepared to leave, he flipped down the visor to reveal an envelope full of cash. He sighed. Luke. Probably the only one who still cared something about him, besides his crackpot mother. Well, he didn't need his uncle's charity! Or want it. He was doing _fine _on his own!

He half-hated his uncle for making him take this stupid detour to return the money. Forcing him to stay longer, even if it was just a few minutes. He just wanted to leave! As he walked towards the diner, he saw her. Standing there, immobile, he heard her say, "I get to leave first!" and _she _ran.

No! No! It wasn't supposed to be like this. _He was supposed leave_. Not her. The last word was _his_. He was the one to leave behind disappointment and broken hopes and tears. It was his way, and had become his right. His. Not hers. And she couldn't take the last thing he had from him.

He ran after her.

People stared as he pursued her through the streets. No doubt they listened as he begged her to stop, begged her to just let him have his exit, give him the only thing he had left. At last he caught her. Standing before her, he was lost in a trance within her crystal blue eyes. And he listened, dutifully, to the words she spoke. Of anger, and buried far beneath, hope.

"What do you have to say to me?"

He was going to throw up. The crescendo of a year spent away from her, thinking of her and dreaming of her. Ready to be honest? You're too late. You were a coward. It won't make a difference, even if it is true.

Jess breathed deeply, steadying himself, preparing to run once he had spoken.

"I love you."

He couldn't look at her any longer. He felt like he was going to die. Physically, he was exhausted. He had just admitted to love, an emotion he'd never voiced, or for that matter, felt. Mentally. . . Jess thought he was already insane. Even outside in the cold air, her effect on him was prominent. Being so close to her culminated into the worst thing he had ever experienced. The sinking feeling of guilt. The aching regret. Beating himself again and again for making all the wrong decisions. The pain he had inflicted on the undeserving, wonderful girl in front of him was rebounding, stabbing him like a knife. His words hung there, in the air between them. They were pressing in on him, bearing heavily on his very being. His stomach raged, his head pounded, and his heart was beating in his ears.

Consummation at long last.

He backed away, got into his car, and drove into the night. Five miles outside of Stars Hollow, he pulled his car into the shoulder. He stood there, taking great gasps of air, before sinking to the ground. Leaning against the door, he sat with his head in his hands.


	3. Slumbering Regret

3. Slumbering Regret

_I wish I could have told you  
The things I kept inside  
But now I guess it's just too late  
So many things remind me of you  
I hope that you can hear me  
I miss you  
This is goodbye one last time_

She was beginning to hate waking. Each dreaded morning, every weary minute of the day. Really, she hated consciousness altogether. Because whenever she was awake, and not preoccupied, she would think of him (even after all this time). It happened relentlessly. One way or another, he would drift into her mind, and a string of emotions would burst forth. And she would feel the swelling remorse inside her. Remorse, sadness, sometimes anger. . . Her friends teased her about her lack of action. A "dry spell". Well, she wasn't dry. Just ask the tears that came whenever she was alone. Wherever she was, whatever she was doing, even right now; she was reminded of her biggest regret.

'_I love you_.'

And she just stood there. _God! _She didn't say anything. He gave her his heart to her, on a silver platter, and she did nothing. Her much-fantasized, unrealistic hope, that Jess would return and still want her, was realized. And she did nothing. Just _stood there._

She shattered him, and she knew it. She was angry. And cold. And she didn't want him to hurt her again. Self-defense. It was fear. It was listening to her head, and that was the smart thing to do. That was always the best course of action. The smart thing. . . Then why was she aching like this? She was still caught in his grasp, when he was long gone. A dry spell? A heartbreak. And when he said it, every fiber of her being was screaming to say it back. Why didn't she listen? He probably hated her now. Now here she was, wishing it had gone another way, that she had said what she felt. Don't lie to yourself. You've known it for months, now. Why? Why? Why?

At least asleep, she didn't have to feel. She could pretend that the past year hadn't happened.

Maybe it wasn't meant to be.

Rory roused from her thoughts when she saw Dean enter. He saved her from her lousy date, had dinner with her. And Rory enjoyed it. She threw herself into the evening, leaving herself behind. Forgetting Jess, forgetting Dean was married, forgetting regret. It was just them, Rory and Dean. Like the old times, before that dark-haired boy had messed her up so badly.

She knew what she was doing, and she didn't care. Deep down, she knew she was lying to herself; that Dean had Lindsay waiting for him at home, and she had Jess weighing down her heart. She was retreating into herself. Trying to go back to a time where love was simple, as uncomplicated as a boy and a girl. Before she knew that another person could complete you, make you whole. She wanted to forget, needed to forget, so that she could move on and not hate waking.

They were at her dorm now. An empty campus to match her empty heart. She was liking Dean's presence that made her like the girl she used to be. Innocent and without hurt. Refreshed. Protected.

The door banged open and - _it was him._ Her heart jumped to a hundred beats a minute. The sky was singing, Dean vanished, the Clash was blaring in her ears. Then she came back to earth. Why was he here? To hurt you. He just won't let you go! It's not fair for him to do this. To haunt you with his words, and now to seek you out in the present. To promise you things and then leave. Every time. Just please, _please_ let him leave before you do something you'll regret forever.

"I need to talk to you."

Oh God. She wanted to run into his arms, feel his hands on her skin, his lips - No! _No._ Just get him to leave. He'll hurt you, you'll cry, and you'll spend even more time thinking and overanalyzing about him then you already do.

"I need to talk to you."

She got Dean to go home and turned to face him. A mask of cool, calm hatred was already in place. Protect yourself.

"Why won't you leave me alone? You won't go away."

She couldn't stand this. She couldn't stand being near him and not touching him. Couldn't stand pretending that she didn't care.

"Come with me."

Oh God. Ohgodohgodohgod.

"Are you crazy?"

"Probably. Do it. Come with me. Don't think about."

Her thoughts were flying everywhere. The Dance Marathon, a black eye, dinner with Dean, Sookie's wedding, Dean's wedding, the Firelight Festival, _I love you_ but I can't go with you.

"Look, we'll go to New York. We'll work, we'll live together, we'll be together. It's what I want. It's what you want too!"

He's not really here. You're dreaming again. You'll wake up, and that emptiness will be there, just like yesterday.

"Look, you know we're supposed to be together. I knew the first time I saw you two years ago! And you know it too, I know you do."

You're not even sure what he's saying anymore. You just keep saying no, no, no. Anything else takes much effort. If she tried to say something, her concentration would slip, resolve would fall, and that would be all it took to forget the whole act. Protect yourself. . .

"Don't say no just to make me stop talking or make me go away. Only say no if you really don't want to be with me."

Her eyes searched his for a fraction of a second; and she knew that she had the power to give or take everything from the boy - man - before her.

"No!"

Her voice echoed through the room with a ringing finality. He left. And she watched him go.

Rory waited until she was sure he was gone before falling apart. She collapsed onto one of the many boxes around her. Sobs wracked her shoulders. Sadness, guilt, anger, hopelessness. The usual. Only worse. She wanted to forget this pain, to close her eyes and never wake again. So much for her biggest regret.

--

Two weeks later, she lay in Dean's arms. She smiled in her sleep, dreaming of Jess.


	4. Closure Failure

4. Closure Failure

_So wait for me,_

He stood in the shadows just beyond the gates of the Gilmore mansion. Waiting. He knew better than to ring the bell. That, Luke had warned him about. '_Don't ring the bell. You'll regret it._' Instead, he stood cloaked in the darkness. Waiting for her.

Jess was kind of glad he had this time to himself before her saw her. Sort of a mental preparation time; he could think, and calm the butterflies that erupted in his stomach just from the thought of being near her. It had been a long time since they last saw each other. He cringed inwardly, thinking of the impromptu decision to go to her dorm and his desperate plea for her to come away with him. Stupid, stupid, stupid. . . But a year had passed. More than a year, actually. He was grown up now. Made something of himself. That was good. The best-seller high school dropout. Yeah, right. But still, it was because of her. God, he didn't know where he would be right now if it wasn't for Rory.

A cat hissed as it stalked a few feet away from him. He jumped, nervous as hell. What the hell is wrong with you? You're acting like some awkward kid. Just relax. If she doesn't want to see you, well, that's it. No need to get so worked up.

He wondered how much longer he would actually wait here. A voice in the back of his mind told him he would be more than happy to wait the whole night and then some, but he ignored it. When Luke had told him she was living here, he wasn't able to give very many details. Just that she was still driving that Prius, and to not ring the bell. What did that mean? Luke was engaged to Lorelai, so that meant any information he had came straight from the source. So the source was. . . ? Since when did Lorelai and Rory not know every single thing about each other?

It was cold. He was almost starting to wish he had had the guts to ask Luke for her phone number. Oh well.

He was sitting on the curb with the Da Vinci Code from his back pocket when her car pulled up. She didn't see him there, crouching in the dark. Good. He had time to stand up, straighten out his jacket and pat down his hair before she saw him.

"Jess!"

She was smiling. Good.

"Hey."

Okay, so far he'd been cool. Just hope to God you stay that way.

"I know this is kinda weird, but there's actually something I wanted to tell you. Show you, actually. I can come back another time. . . "

Somehow they ended up in her bedroom, on separate seats a good four feet away from each other. It was. . . strange. Not uncomfortable, but not at ease either.

"You wrote a book! You sat down and wrote a novel. . . "

Maybe not that uncomfortable.

"I knew that if you could just sit down and stop shaking it around you could do something like this. I knew it, I knew it."

"I know you did."

She did more than she would ever know. He wondered if she actually realized the effect she had had on him. When they first met, he was the perfect picture of the wrong side of the tracks: the 16-year-old city-slicker with no father figure that had seen too much in his short life. But only a few months in her company had transformed him into the guy willing to go to prom for his girlfriend. That single fact summed up what she had done to him. After high school, he had ended up exactly where he he'd known he would be - a crappy apartment with guys he didn't even know, and a going-nowhere job. Deadbeats. Before Rory, he would have been happily resigned to his fate. But during those years, her voice had never left him. Neither had the look in her eyes. _'You can do more. . . '_

"So I just basically wanted to show you that. Tell you - tell you that I couldn't have done it without you."

She smiled. He was smiling, too.

"I'm gonna be around for a couple days. Could we talk again?"

--

He was throwing pebbles at her window the next night. God, this whole trip was turning into a living adolescent flashback. Whatever. They were just debating where to eat when her boyfriend showed up. In a Porsche. Oh.

So, Richie Blondie was a third wheel. But dinner was supposed to be just them. They could talk. Because honestly, he had so much more to say. Showing her the novel; that was only half of it. He wanted to apologize. Yeah, he knew it was superficial and it wouldn't mean anything. At least, not to her. But for him, it was the final step in righting his life. The last action that would seal his past away and validate person he had become. Hers was the only incomplete ending. They were supposed to finish things. . . or begin them. Maybe be friends again.

Okay, so maybe a part of him was still hoping that they could pick up where they left off. But it was the small, irrational part of him. He knew he would be lucky to get a number to call on Christmas.

Overall, Jess thought he behaved very well through the course of dinner. Well, drinks, because he left before he even ordered. A man can only take so much. He dodged all of her boyfriend's thinly veiled insults for Rory's sake, and when he had had enough of Richie's inept smartass, he delivered a line that would have made the hoodlum of his past proud.

"Sure, where do I send it? The blond dick at Yale?"

Then he stormed out. Rory followed him, apologies already spilling from her mouth.

This, this stupid tag-along date, was the final straw. Something was going on. Seeing her like this; with a complete jackass, at her grandmother's house, not going to school. There was something out of place. Rory wasn't the Rory he knew. And he couldn't bite his tongue anymore.

"What the hell is going on?"

She started to explain, but he didn't even hear it.

"What are you doing? Living at your grandparents' place? Being in the DAR? No Yale - _why _did you _drop out_ of _Yale_?"

She was quiet.

"What's going on with you? This isn't you, Rory. You know it isn't. What's going on?"

She wouldn't look at him. Or couldn't.

"May - Maybe we'll catch up - at a better time."

God! Why could they never say goodbye? It was like a curse. And open-ended parting. A wound never healed. In all of the time they had known each other, Jess couldn't remember an occasion where they had said goodbye. Maybe because they were more than just an ending. Maybe because they were less.

Before he turned to leave, he allowed himself the slightest indulgence. A small insignificant touch on her arm. It was well placed in context; the epitome of casual parting. But really, Jess just wanted to touch her. To prove to himself that she really had changed. He was right. There was barely a spark of the girl he remembered.

The last real thing. Gone.

He wished her happy birthday, and left.


	5. Still There

5. Still There

_I know the day will come_

Rory got the invitation and fire burned within her. She was better; life was better. Everything was new but old, familiar yet exciting. She was happy. It was right. All but him. . . Jess. The only name that summoned unsettled feelings from the depths of her content.

Last time they saw each other, things between them had ended on a sour note. Big surprise. They never parted on terms even close to the way she knew they both wanted. But now, here was this invitation to see him in his element, "Truncheon Books."

She didn't have time to think about what she had planned to do today. She just got in her car and drove. It was almost like. . . it was calling to her.

--

Walking into Truncheon filled Rory with sense of simple satisfaction. The environment was invigorating. It was filled with an fresh, young, artsy vibe.

"Well, isn't this a day of surprises."

He was smiling. Good. He looked so. . . grown up. It was perfect, seeing him in this place. Standing here; poetry being read in the background, art on the walls and his book on display; it was the fulfillment of the far-off vision she had seen inside him so long ago. She fell into step beside Jess, basking in the familiar warmth that they always seemed to create whenever they were together.

Luke was there too, and that daughter of his. April. They talked for a few minutes, but Jess pulled Luke away for what Rory suspected (and then overheard) was giving Luke the money he thought he owed him before he left. She remembered how he had always been hat way, proud and self-reliant, and always with cash on hand. In fact, she couldn't think of a time where she had ever paid for herself on a date. Gentlemanly, and ironic, seeing as he had been known to swipe money for town fund raisers. She heard Lane's words from years ago echo in her head. 'It's part of why he's cute. He's unpredictable.'

"So you're here alone?"

She knew how he worked. Subtly. Knew that this was not really asking if she was here with someone, but if she was with someone. She knew, but she took the question at face value anyway.

"I guess."

--

It was later. She sat in a nearly-empty Truncheon books, reading his book and feeling totally at peace. It was remarkable how removed she felt from the problems she had left back in Connecticut, Logan and the bridesmaids and her mother. . .

She and Jess were alone in a bookstore/print shop/art gallery/performance space, and it was amazing how natural it was. They were closer that they had been in years - only inches away from each other. She felt like a schoolgirl, only calmer and cooler, and even more aware of her body.

"So. . . you fixed everything?"

There it was again, the question that she knew had a very specific meaning. _So, that guy_'_s history, right?_ But she dodged it, answering only on behalf of school and Lorelai.

It didn't show in his face, but she knew him. He interpreted the green light. They were going to kiss and she wanted it. Her feelings for Jess were awakened and as strong as ever; the way he tasted was still the same. She smiled to herself - he may have cleaned himself up, but he still smoked. . .

It felt so right. It had been years but they could have been teenagers and this could have been Luke's couch. The connection they had, it ran so deep that it was like her senses were taking over conscious thought. She could almost feel his body on hers. . . But that tiny voice, the voice that knew it was wrong, nagged and forced her to be honest.

"Everything. . . but him."

He looked so hurt. And he had a right to be. She _was _a jerk. She did come here alone, and she gave him every implication. What was she doing? Why was he the only that could drive her to be unfaithful?

"I just. . . I'm in love with him. Despite all the bad he's done, I can help it, I'm in love with him."

Why did she have to explain it, to justify it? You know why. Because you can still feel it, and you know he can feel it too. And because deep down, you know that what you have with Logan will always less than what you had with Jess.

"Love, huh?"

Maybe she didn't know what love was. But she knew what she felt. They just could never pull it together.

"It's what it is. You. Me."

She couldn't bring herself to say goodbye. They never could. She managed a small wave, and turned away from him.

--

Her hands were shaking when she turned the ignition. Heart racing. . . she could feel every heartbeat pounding in her chest. It was there! You know it was! Every single fiber of her being was calling out to her, screaming to turn back. What are you doing? _Go back to him!_

She could swear she felt every physical mile between them.

It seemed like her very soul was crying. She had never felt this miserable, this attuned to her senses. Except once. The last time she walked away from him.


	6. London

6. London

_No matter where life takes me to  
I'll meet you there  
And even if I need you here  
I'll meet you there_

She was thinking about him, and she had no idea why. Of course there was an obvious answer: Here she was alone in Logan's apartment with nothing to engage her thoughts, so naturally her mind would wander. Why it had wandered to Jess, however, was the disturbing question.

After all, she had driven home and came to her senses - she loved Logan, and Jess and her were just old friends. Friends that used to date. It was cool between them, and she just got flustered because he kissed her, and it made her remember things that were over now. There was nothing there, because her heart belonged to someone else now.

Rory stretched out on the sofa, wishing time would move a little faster. She'd been in London three days now, and all she'd seen was the airport. They had spent the last day and half getting happily reacquainted with each other, but today he had to work. Unfamiliar with the city, she was awaiting his return so he could make good on the promise to show her a night on the town. But of course, the day was dragging by and even reading was failing to hold her interest. And for some inexplicable reason, Jess came to mind.

Calm down. You're bored, that's why you thought of him.

And of course, now that she was with Logan again, there was no question. She loved him with her whole self. Otherwise she wouldn't have missed him like she did.

Sighing, she put Little Dorrit on the floor, remembering her page number, settled back into the cushions and closed her eyes.

The next thing she knew, she was lying on her stomach and the entire left side of her body had sunk into the couch cushions. She groaned. That nap had to have taken up an hour at least. . . Slowly, she pulled her arm from under her, intending to check the time, but on the way she felt it brush something besides crumbs. Whatever it was, it was wedged in the sofa pretty deeply. A last reluctant tug brought the object into view. Her heart stopped when she saw what she held in her hands: Hot pink lace panties.

--

Hours later, the sound she had been awaiting anxiously echoed through the silent apartment. The keys turned in the lock and he was on the threshold, frozen at they sight beheld. Rory sat holding her knees to her chest, on top of suitcases that had been packed again. On the table next to her were the conspicuous results of her search.

He didn't speak. He stare at the small pile of multicolored underwear, and she wondered if the surprise on his face was because he didn't know they been in his apartment or the fact that she had discovered them.

"Logan."

He flinched. Her voice was cold and unforgiving; she had long finished crying.

"I guess you've been working really hard."

He was silent. She heard in her head, _'Who? Who cheated on you?'_ She looked up at him.

"I should have known. I mean, I really should have. You told me yourself you weren't a boyfriend kind of guy, and they when we had that break - all those girls - and now, there are different sizes in that pile, Logan. I should have known."

"Rory - "

"Don't. Don't try to explain. All this furniture was new. You don't have a roommate. It's as easy as that."

He hung his head.

"I thought. . . I thought I meant something to you. Obviously I was wrong."

She rose, took her luggage in hand, and left.

--

"Jess?"

"Rory, is that you?"

"Jess, I'm in London. Logan - He. . . he cheated on me."

"What?"

"Multiple times, apparently."

"Rory, why - "

"Jess, I just, I don't know, I keep thinking that you were right, because you're always right, and no matter what, it all just keeps coming back to you. And I thought that that day at your place meant that maybe, maybe it was still there for us, you know? And I know that it's so stupid to be calling you right now, because it's been months, and you probably hate me for what I did to you, but Philadelphia was there on the flight schedule, and I just kept looking at it and thinking about you. And now I have this ticket in my hand, and it - "

"Rory!"

"What?"

"When does your flight land?"

"5:15 tonight."

"I'll meet you there."


	7. Always

**A/N:** Well, here it is. The last chapter of this story, but the beginning of all the others (in a way). Thanks to everyone for giving my story a chance. Specific thank you to Pbnk-ink, my very first reviewer ever.

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7. Always

_And where I go you'll be there with me  
Forever you'll be right here with me_

The clock chimed seven, and he automatically called up the stairs, "Seven o'clock!".

A distant voice above him yelled something indistinctive back, and he gave a quiet chuckle. Always the same.

He strolled around the room at ease, himself unconcerned at the time. Dressed as he was, lazing out on the couch seemed off-limits, so wandering the living room was really the only option open.

He passed the ridiculous plastic statue of Betty Boop dressed as Marilyn Monroe and the equally ridiculous cherub-framed painting, glancing over the six or seven sets of bookshelves stacked (and some double-stacked) with literature. He knew these things, their things, very well. What made him stop, however, was a shelf of dark wood, intricately carved with uneven designs.

He hadn't really looked at this particular shelf in years. There weren't that many books here, but the ones that resided were doubly special. He ran his fingers over the spines, reading the authors' names slowly: Six were his, and two were hers. Beside the first book that bore her name was her copy of Howl. A smile played about on his lips; he didn't need open it to remember the story or his own words upon its pages.

His vision moved down to the shelf below. This one held only a picture and a sizeable sculpture made of Skittles - an original Kirk, if he recalled correctly. With both hands, he lifted the frame from its place and looked at the picture carefully. It had been taken years and years ago, he thought , right after they had decided to rekindle their relationship. He recalled that fateful day, receiving the phone call and waiting anxiously at the airport. So long ago, but he could see it like it was yesterday. _This is it. She's here for you._

He was roused by footsteps rushing down the stairs.

"You ready?"

"Yeah," he said. He looked at her. She's perfect, you know. "You look nice."

She smiled at him.

"You know," he said, "I feel like I don't appreciate exactly how lucky I am." He seized her around the waist and pulled her toward him.

Rory looked up at him. "Yeah?" she said. He looked into those eyes, forever their brilliant blue, and kissed her.

He felt her pull away, reluctantly, and tell him, "We're going to be late."

"We're already late," he said.

She grinned slyly and wrapped her arms around his body. "You know, this is going to make some people pretty unhappy."

"Oh well," he answered, and kissed her again.

_fin._

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**A/N:** I've got a detailed between-the-lines blog about this story over at my homepage. If you're interested, you can find the link in my profile. 


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